


Until the Last Moment

by WordObsessed



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, TS Big Bang 2020, Thomas Sanders Storytime Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordObsessed/pseuds/WordObsessed
Summary: College can be hard. Logan's trying to keep his scholarship, Virgil's preparing for a dance recital, Dee's trying to finish thesis prep, Remus is just trying to graduate, Roman is trying to help everyone else, Patton's stress baking is just causing more stress, and Remy and Emile are trying to salvage a relationship that hasn't even properly started. But hey, what could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders
Comments: 28
Kudos: 78
Collections: Storytime! 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quick warning before we begin: the ending can be read as pretty unhappy, I tried to tie up some ends as best I could but other stuff just stays bad. Logan's actions towards the end can also be read as manipulative, although he does have reason for them. Proceed with caution, but please enjoy!
> 
> Continuing on: this is my submission for the 2020 Sanders Sides Big Bang! Over on Tumblr, you can find some AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL art of all the characters done by the equally amazing @birdsongisland

When Logan opened the door to their dorm room, Virgil eyed the plastic bag in his hand with equal parts concern and skepticism.

"You didn't bring any experiments home again, did you? Patton wasn't thrilled the last time you left tissue samples in the fridge."

However tolerant Patton was, leaving something that was so obviously inedible in the floor's shared fridge had almost sent him over the edge.

Logan shook his head, setting down his satchel on his own bed. "That was one time, and wasn't really my fault- the fridge in the Power Studies lab was at the wrong temperature. This is a package of glow in the dark stars."

Virgil pushed his laptop aside, moving closer to examine the package. "Really? Sweet, do you want help putting them up?"

"No thank you, I'd like to arrange them in the pattern of the Taurus constellation. I'll have to look it up."

"Tomorrow?" Virgil glanced the time on his computer. "It's getting late, have you eaten?"

Logan nodded. "Katrina, one of my fellow Power Studies classmates, offered the whole lab some extra food she had."

"Sounds like Patton."

"Yeah. I took her up on it, she got to talking about tests she was doing on light illusions, and it more or less spiraled into a conversation about stars. She mentioned that she missed having glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, so I suggested she just go buy some. She bought me a package as a thank-you gift and gave it to me just before I left the lab. It was honestly bizarre."

Virgil shook his head. "PS students. I will never understand you."

Logan rolled his eyes. "I'll wait until tomorrow to put them up. I just have to write down a few tasks on my to-do list for tomorrow, then I'll go to bed. Happy?"

"Extremely." Virgil shut his laptop and rustled through his drawer beside his bed for the charger. He was asleep before Logan even finished putting his pen away.

Virgil was the first one awake the next day. He checked the time and sent a text to his sister. Lilly was six hours ahead of Florida time, at her own college in Germany.

He didn't bother being quiet as he got out of bed and dressed. Long hours of lab work and the constant work load of being a Power Studies student meant Logan slept like the dead.

Virgil couldn't imagine dealing with all that stress. His own dance major was plenty, thanks, let alone an "available by scholarship and invitation only, with only the top 0.1% of students even getting in, half being dropped within the first year of the course" level of stress. He wasn't sure how any of the students were sane, between that and singlehandedly being responsible for the research of powers, which were scientifically proven to be the most important part of society. In fact, they were probably even the ones that conducted that study.

He slipped out the door into the floor's shared living room, putting in earbuds before he began to fill the coffee pot with water. Somehow, between himself and Remy, they fueled the entire floor's coffee obsession. But unlike Remy, he actually woke up early, so he put out the first pot.

As it was brewing, he checked the whiteboard on the fridge. At the top, in swirling handwriting, was written "Patton's Food of the Day". Just below that, in more scribbled script, was "eggs, reserved for Remus because I promised".

Virgil smirked and wondered what Remus had done to make the culinary major reserve him food.

He heard shuffling behind him, and there was Emile, a black and white speckled cat trailing behind him.

"Morning Virgil," Emile said, opening the cabinet door from two feet away and levitating down a tin of cat food.

"Morning Emile. Morning Sushi." He squatted down to pet the cat in question. She rubbed on his leg for a moment before Emile opened her food container, then she abandoned him without a second thought.

Sushi was technically Remy's cat, but again, that man loved to sleep in. Not a single one of his classes was before eleven.

The coffee maker stopped running, and Virgil poured himself a cup before pouring in copious amounts of creamer. His phone started buzzing, and he picked up the video chat from his sister.

"Lilly! How's Germany?"

"Cold, just like last week. Shut up, I don't want to see that smirk from the literal sunshine state, it's like, fifty degrees warmer there."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. It's just the fire, you can't handle any cold. Why did you go all the way to Germany again?"

She laughed and summoned a fireball in her hand, miming throwing it at him.

The siblings were both elemental powered. Lilly had fire powers while Virgil had air, but they managed to get along better than most elemental siblings, who were infamous for bickering and fighting because of nothing but sheer nature.

They chatted for almost an hour before Lilly signed off apologetically to go to a class.

Just as Virgil stood from where he had been laying on the couch, Roman burst out from his room, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. "Hey Doc, Hot Topic." He grabbed an apple from the counter and bit into it as he ran out the door in he same rush he had appeared.

Virgil checked his phone. "He's got four minutes. Hope it's not his Euro Lit class across campus."

Emile shook his head fondly. "I've told him, you've told him, Logan and Dee have told him, but will he listen to us? Maybe think to be a little ahead of schedule ever? Nope. What a disaster."

Virgil snorted. "I'm heading back to my room, I've got some work to do."

"Have fun."

"Yeah, right. Thanks anyways."

When he opened the door to his room, he found Logan already awake, standing on his bed with the pack of glow in the dark stars scattered around the blue comforter around him.

"How's Lilly?" Logan asked.

Virgil video called her every Tuesday, without fail. Logan was the kind to remember, and catalog that information away.

"Good. How's Taurus coming?"

Logan smiled. "Great! I have the northern sector done already, just a bit more to go."

"Let me know if you need any help, alright? I'll be working."

Logan nodded, and Virgil opened his laptop. Not even five minutes had passed before Logan's phone started buzzing.

He got off his bed and checked it. "Ah, my advisor wants to meet with me at the Busy Bean. Want something?"

"If you want to bring back an apple tart, I would be forever in your debt."

"Got it. Bye."

Virgil gave him a two-fingered salute before turning back to his laptop.

Logan reread the email as he walked through the living room.

"It's dangerous to walk and read, Teach," Emile called from his perch on the couch.

Logan lowered his phone. "Apologies, I was just-"

Emile laughed. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Get your Pinky and the Brain outta here."

Logan almost objected to the pun, but just shook his head. Once he was outside, he looked back at his phone; there was one, no, two concerning parts of the email. One, was that Antonio wanted to speak to him immediately. The other was those ominous words at the end. _This is of importance to your scholarship_. Perhaps Virgil's own habits of worrying had worn off on him, but those words didn't sit well. It could be positive, such as a boost in his personal lab funds, or his advisor presenting another list of possible project ideas for him to consider.

But it could also be negative. His advisor and lead professor had been on him for a while about his projects and lab usage.

"You need to finalize your graduating project soon, Logan. It could take you from now until graduation to finish it."

"This won't do, it's too shallow of an idea. The council will never approve it."

"You have so much potential, don't waste it on games and purely theoretical work."

Okay, maybe he had been lacking in producing concrete material since his debut project at the Midway Convention his freshman year.

He had gotten second place, which had secured his place in the course for the rest of the year. He had even been in the spotlight for a bit, until he failed to produce any thing else and interest in him waned, so he faded back into the background.

Power Studies students weren't in the background. They were the best of the best, the leading minds when it came to the world of powers around them. Everyone had a power, so the science of Power Studies affected everyone. Any one of the thirty possible powers had been studied, researched, and documented extensively, but there were always more things to discover and advancements to be made.

He arrived at the Busy Bean, and found his advisor at a table, sipping tea. Logan hung the strap of his bag onto the side of the chair and started to sit down, but Antonio stopped him.

"Go ahead, get yourself something to drink."

Logan nodded, and went up to the counter to get a cup of hot apple cider.

He sat back down, and Antonio just looked at him for a long moment.

"You're not going to like what I have to say, just to warn you."

Logan's heart sank.

"Oh?"

"You haven't done anything since the Midway Convention, Logan. Not a single report, not a single recorded experiment. But your professors say you're doing plenty."

"I know." Of course he knew. No one had let him forget.

"Why aren't you taking any notes on your experiments? Wait, no." Antonio narrowed his eyes, and Logan had the feeling of being a bug under one of his fellow Power Students' microscopes. "I've worked with you enough, you don't just conduct experiments for no reason and not record anything. So why aren't you submitting anything?"

Logan stayed silent a beat too long.

"Is it too much paperwork for you? You love writing, you love detailing. I know you used to write essays for fun, so it can't be that. Is it a perfectionist thing? Are you scared that whatever you put out won't be better than your Midway Convention project, so you're not putting out anything at all? I know it's hard, but at this point, you need to do something, anything."

"I've been conducting personal experiments," Logan said, his words slow and quiet.

Antonio was quiet again. His hair changed color, from dark brown to a dusty blond. That was never good, Antonio's power only ever activated subconsciously if he was genuinely worried. "Let me help you. It's my job as advisor to make sure you don't lose this scholarship-"

"I'm losing my scholarship?" Logan's response was immediate, and if he was any less composed, he would have stood and tipped his chair over. "Why? There are plenty of other people who didn't score nearly as high as I did at the Midway Convention!"

"But they've been consistently submitting reports that have gotten better, and are now doing better than how they did at Midway. Think about it this way: if a student submits several assignments, gets about a seventy on the first two, but then continuously gets eighties and nineties, their grade is going to be a lot better than someone who has one hundred followed by several zeroes. So, subjectively, you're at the bottom of your class right now. Which has you at risk of being dropped from the course."

"Antonio, you know my scholarship is only for the Power Studies course! If I get dropped from the course, I lose my scholarship, I lose everything. I'm figuratively back to square one."

"Which is precisely why you need to figure out a way past this problem you're having and get yourself back on track. You have everything on the line here, and your first step towards fixing this is to tell me what's really going on here." His voice softened. "I don't want to see you go. You have potential, could do some good in this world."

As much as Logan appreciated the sentiment, he couldn't help but resent Antonio's words. Logan hated the word _potential_. It implied that whatever he had, be it intellectual power or just an overwhelming ability to bullshit, was being wasted. Logan was not wasting his time here, he was capitalizing on it, trying to achieve his real goals, not whatever hoops the council was putting before him to jump through.

"I'll figure it out. I'm not leaving."

Antonio smiled. "That's what I like to hear. I know you can do it." He stood, gave Logan a confident nod, and walked out.

Logan stared at his barely touched cup of cider. He had gotten careless. He had coasted on the success of his Midway project, and now the consequences were catching up with him. Quickly. He didn't have long before the council's disapproving murmurs turned to a loud, decisive vote that could send him all the way back to Michigan. Back to his mother, with nothing to show for his efforts.

His fists clenched. No, that wasn't an option. He had to fix this so he could continue the research that really mattered.

He went back up to the counter, ordered an apple tart for Virgil, and left.

When he got back to the apartment, Virgil had left for a class, so he grabbed a Sharpie off the table, wrote his name on the bag, and put it in the fridge.

He crossed back into the common room, and found Dee on the floor, with various notebooks and papers strewn in a semicircle around him.

"Thesis prep?" He asked.

Dee looked up, eyes narrowed. That was all the answer Logan needed. The look of utter hatred and self-loathing that came with thesis prep was universal amongst college students.

"Good luck with that." Logan quickly retreated from his glare and went back to his room.

Dee lowered his head again to organize his papers. He needed a few more court cases to use as examples in his thesis. He had his topic, but the actual examples and sources were harder to come by.

"Why did I commit to a major in sociology again?"

"Because _we live in a society_." Remus quipped back to him in a terrible imitation of Dee's lower voice.

Dee rolled his eyes. "Oh hush. Do you want to help me?"

Remus cast a glance at the piles of papers full of Dee's swirling handwriting. "I'm good, thanks. You know what? You deserve a break."

"I haven't even properly started."

"You deserve a break!" Remus bent down and ripped a blank piece of notebook paper from an open notebook. He crumpled it and held it cupped in his palms. Within a heartbeat, prickly crystal encased it like a bubble of frost. Remus tossed it casually, like a sane person would toss an apple before biting in. "Want to go break shit?"

Dee smirked. "Do you even have to ask?" He swept his piles back together and ran to put them back in his room before grabbing his backpack.

Remus had already brought out his own bag, and was gleefully crumpling papers that looked suspiciously like class assignments and stuffing them into his bag, free of breakable crystal. For now.

Dee joined him, largely ignoring the papers until he found a one that said "Graduation Requirements for Fine Arts Major." In a light, steady hand, someone had circled several courses, such as Art History II and Expanded Media.

"Do you only have these four classes and the senior seminars to go before graduating next year?" Dee asked, not quite managing to keep the note of surprise out of his voice.

Remus glanced at the paper he had in his hand and grabbed it suddenly. "It doesn't matter." He crumpled the paper and shoved it to the bottom of his bag. "Are you ready to go?"

Dee stood and shouldered his own bag. "If you are."

Remus led the way down the sunny path, under an overhang of trees, until they got to the back of the building, where the dumpsters were sandwiched between the dorms and the building next to it. It was the closest thing to an alley that the campus had.

Remus swung the lids of the two dumpsters open, and then began pulling out the balls of paper and crystalizing them before handing several to Dee.

Then the two started throwing, and the crystal hit the metal of the dumpsters, crashing with the almighty sound of glass breaking. Remus began to grin wildly, and even Dee admitted that it was therapeutic to throw stuff around.

Remus had dragged him into doing this before, when he had been having a bad day or was just in a more chaotic mood than usual. Dee never refused him, it was better to supervise Remus when he was doing this in a healthy manner than brushing him off and having him run off to do something even more reckless that could get himself or someone else hurt.

It wasn't that Remus was dangerous. He wasn't even stupid. He just often had a disregard for consequences, and that was what brought around danger.

So they kept throwing things until they ran out of paper. Then Remus began picking up random rocks and chunks of gravel off the ground and throwing them too. They hit harder, and made even more noise.

Dee stepped back, and watched Remus. When he had cleared every chunk of rock in a foot radius, he stopped, panting. He turned to Dee with a gleam in his eyes. "That was fun!"

Dee tilted his head. "Was this really just a spur of the moment thing?"

Remus's joy quickly soured, and he bristled, fists clenching. "Does it matter? I thought I could count on you to just do this with me and not ask questions. If I wanted someone to interrogate me, I would have brought Roman!"

Dee remained impassive. "I'm worried."

"Then-" his voice cracked. "I don't care, fuck off." He turned and stomped off in the direction of the arts building, where he always retreated to. He hadn't chosen his major just for the hell of it. It was one of the only places he actually felt safe.

Dee had been around Remus long enough to know him almost better than he knew himself. So now he knew to back off and wait.

So he stalked back to the dorms, making sure to take a deep breath before entering into the common room. No use to make anyone else mad from his residue frustration.

So that meant that he immediately ran into Remy.

"Hey babe," Remy drawled, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Not your babe," Dee shot back. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I'm working the closing shift tonight. So no. Shouldn't you be in class?"

"It's Tuesday. Not like that means much to you, you slept through half of it."

"I've got to keep all this beauty somehow." Remy beamed, and Dee could hardly suppress the urge to gag.

He didn't hate Remy. They had just taken to a habit of nitpicking each other from the moment they had met, and were never able to regain an even ground.

"I'm going to work on my thesis," he muttered, and left the common room.

Remy smirked and adjusted his sunglasses. He knew that he threw Dee off, and it was funny. As long as they didn't cross any lines, like him saying something about Dee's scars, or Dee making fun of his albinism, it wasn't hurting anybody.

He grabbed Sushi's brush off the coffee table in the middle of the common room.

"Sushi babe, come here."

The cat emerged from the hallway, and walked over to Remy, rubbing up against his legs.

"Hey girl," he cooed, and ran the brush over her long fur. "Guess what? I'm meeting Emile for lunch today!"

Sushi looked at him critically, probably trying to say either "yeah, idiot, you meet him for lunch every Tuesday" or "why did you stop petting me?"

"Yeah yeah, I know." He kept scratching her chin. "But it's just-I get to see him again! I can't wait to see him. This is how it's going to happen. I walk into the Busy Bean, fashionably on time because it makes him sad if I'm late, and at first he won't see me, but when he does, his eyes will light up and he'll do a little wave like I can't see him with that cotton candy mop of pink fluff on his head and I'll sit down and we'll have lunch and just talk.

"And it'll be so nice, but then he'll check his watch and tell me I have to go to class, and I'll tell him it doesn't matter, I can miss it just to talk to him, but he'll insist, and I'll go to class and be sad because I miss him. I really wish we were dating."

Sushi bumped his hand with her head.

"Thanks girl. You're such a good listener, do you want some treats?"

He led Sushi back to his room and grabbed her bag of treats off the shelf. As he fed Sushi, he breathed in deeply. He loved that smell- not the smell of cat treats, those were nasty, but the smell that permeated the room he shared with Emile. It smelled like him, like flowers from the plants in the windowsill and cinnamon, for some stupid reason, mingling with the faint scent of his cologne. Emile smelled like home, and it was almost intoxicating knowing that wherever Remy went, when he returned he would either be greeted by Emile, or a faint whisper of him, still in their shared dorm room.

Emile was so domestic, so perfect, that he left a bit of him wherever he went. Remy smiled at the post-it note still sitting on his desk. _Sushi's fed, meet you for lunch at 12:30, have a picture-perfect day!_

Remy laughed again. He had laughed when he had read the pun this morning, and it wasn't even the first time Emile had used it. Emile wrote him a note every morning, even if he would see him in only a few minutes when Remy got up just after him.

Remy pulled out his own stack of post-it notes, tinted pale pink, and scribbled back a reply. _Sushi's had treats, if we do a Steven Universe watch tonight, I'll make you special coffee in the morning._

He would gladly sacrifice sleep for the man he loved, and that was a significant statement coming from him.

He had nearly twenty minutes before he had to be at the Busy Bean, and so he pulled out his notebook full of assignments and his camera. He was good at the written assignments, the analysis of photos and frame, angle and color saturation.

But his favorite part of his photography major was his Narrative Editorial class. The professor was awesome, and she gave the students weekly assignments to tell stories just through their photos. She loved Remy, because he often used Emile as a model, and he had managed to use that cute face to create some dramatic shots.

So Remy skimmed over the upcoming assignment, thinking of what he could do. He swung his backpack over his back, and hung his camera from his neck, ready for any potential shot as he walked across campus.

He detoured a couple of times for particularly nice looking trees or flowers, but eventually ended up at the park across from the coffee shop. He walked around, playing with light angles through the trees, until he saw a girl with a three-legged corgi.

Remy's heart jumped a beat, his thoughts abandoning each other for a single one. Puppy!

He took the camera off his neck and held it down, not wanting to alarm the girl with his eagerness.

"Excuse me?"

She looked up. "Yes?"

"Your dog is really cute. Um, I'm a photography major." He gestured lamely to the camera in his hand. "Would you mind if I took a couple pictures? Not for an assignment or anything, just for... cuteness."

The girl laughed. "Go right ahead. Peggles loves people."

She did indeed. When Remy squatted down and offered his free hand, the camera held out of the dog's reach, she happily came up to him and started licking him.

With great reluctance, Remy eventually stopped petting her long enough to snap some photos.

He showed the final shots to the girl, and she grinned. "Those are gorgeous! Would you mind emailing them to me?"

"Oh, sure! No problem, here." Remy handed her his phone, open to the notes app. She quickly typed in her email and handed it back.

"Thank you so much! My name's Valerie, by the way."

"Remy. Thank you again."

"No problem, Peggles loved it, and my mom's going to love the pictures."

"I'm glad." Remy looked at his watch and realized he was already three minutes late. "I've got to run, I'll email the pictures to you later tonight!"

He started jogging across the park. Emile would understand, but he hated cutting their meetings short, even if it was only by a few minutes.

But when he entered the coffee shop, his excuses died on his lips. Emile wasn't there.

They had a usual spot, two chairs on opposite sides of a small table in the corner of the shop opposite the door, right under a window. There was an outlet on Emile's side, and the back right leg of Remy's chair wobbled. They had met there countless times over the last two years, but Emile wasn't there.

This threw Remy completely off. Emile didn't do this. The psychology major was predictable to a fault, and he was always there, a steady presence. For Remy to expect him and Emile not to give that was jarring.

"It's three minutes, Rem," he muttered to himself. "It's not three hours. Chill."

So he went up to the counter and ordered a coffee with a stupid amount of creamer. He liked his coffee like his men. Sweet.

He sat down. Seven minutes.

He checked his phone. Seven minutes.

He took a sip of the coffee, still hot enough to burn his tongue, but swallowed anyways, feeling the hot liquid drag away a layer of the cells on his tongue. Eight minutes.

Fuck, was this how Virgil felt twenty-four seven? Constant anxiety flapping around in his chest like a sparrow trapped in his ribcage? It sucked. He should give Virgil a hug next time he saw him.

Nine minutes.

A text from Emile popped up on his screen.

"Sorry, won't be able to get to the BB. I'll make it up to you, promise."

No explanation, but at least he had said anything at all. It would have been so much worse if Emile had just dropped off without a word. He was safe. Maybe upset, but at least safe. He sent back a reply.

"No problem. See you later."

Remy's tongue still hurt, but he took another long sip of his coffee as he left the Busy Bean. He would be early to his Foundation of Film class.


	2. Chapter 2

"I have to meet Remy for lunch in half an hour, but I'd love to see!" Emile beamed at Virgil, who bit his lip.  
"Are you sure? It can wait..."  
"Nonsense. I want to watch, your recital isn't far off, and I would be absolutely honored to have a sneak peak."  
Virgil smiled. "Great! Let me grab my bag, then we can go!"  
Emile put on his shoes, and joined Virgil to walk down to the visual arts building.  
"So, unless a senior from the theater department requests to do costuming for our midterm recital, the directors take suggestions from us, the dance students. Last year, they took one of my suggestions to use jewel headbands to go with our royalty theme. This year, I took some ideas for the costume design from the Olympic figure skaters last year. It's the same idea: flashy and beautiful, but sleek. When they gave us the costumes earlier today, they had taken nearly everything from my design!  
"Not only that, but even though most of the dance is group oriented, and everyone is either dancing or frozen in place for effect, a few of us got time for solos." Virgil blushed. "It's mostly seniors, but another junior and I were put in too. I almost couldn't believe it, I started practicing right away. I was thinking that for my senior finale, I could even choreograph my own, that would be so cool..." he sighed wistfully, and Emile thought about how this was similar to how dewy-eyed Remy got about new coffee combinations.  
"Well, I know that anything you choreographed and performed would be stunning," Emile said with a smile.  
Virgil's blush deepened. Man, he could not not handle compliments.  
They were at the front door of the visual arts building. Virgil opened the door and led Emile to the dance studio that was empty at that time on a Tuesday.  
"Let me change really quick, then I can show you my solo," Virgil said, before disappearing into a side door.  
Emile just nodded, and looked around the room. It was pretty, one wall being taken up by a floor to ceiling window, another with a mirror of similar size, and a third with a long bar across it. In the back corner between the bar and the wall with the main door was a grand piano. Between the bar and window was the side door leading into what he assumed was the changing rooms. The whole room was light and airy, and Emile could see why the dancers loved their studio.  
Virgil emerged from the door with a shy wave. The costume really was gorgeous. His black pointe shoes were laced up white leggings, and his white shirt had a slight flare to it at the bottom, a contrast to the material that went up his neck, almost like a turtleneck.  
"Our theme is birds," Virgil explained. "I don't have hair or makeup done yet, but I'll have an extra dramatic smokey eye and a white feather in my hair. I'm a swan, if you couldn't tell."  
Emile nodded enthusiastically. "It looks stunning, Vee! Go ahead, dance for me."  
So Virgil did. There was a speaker tucked behind the piano, and he pulled it out and hit some buttons before piano accompaniment began drifting from it. Virgil took his place along one wall, and Emile watched him mouth numbers to himself before leaping into action.  
It was amazing. Perhaps Virgil was using his air powers to counter the gravity just a little, but Emile doubted it. Virgil had skill, and had been dancing since he was little. It showed, from his flexibility to the absolute lack of hesitation in the moves he did. It was like he became a different person when held aloft by music and his own muscles. Gone was the shy man who didn't dare take up space, just in case he wasn't wanted. This was a man who knew he had skill, and was showing it off.  
When the music stopped, and Virgil stood, arms aloft, breathing heavily, Emile clapped.  
Virgil's blush became deeper than ever.  
"That was so good! Beautiful!"  
"Thank you." He swept across the room, still in the mindset of moving with purposeful, beautiful steps, and turned the speaker off. "I really appreciate you coming to watch. I know you have a lunch meeting, you can go ahead and leave."  
"Alright! I'll see you later, alligator!"  
Emile had ten minutes before he had to be across campus, and started walking to the Busy Bean. He put on his headphones as he walked, and the Steven Universe theme song began playing. He hummed to himself as he turned onto the main walkway that lead past the dorms. But above the music, his brain started murmuring to himself.   
"You're going to be late."  
Emile frowned.  
"No I'm not. It takes five minutes to walk from the dorms to the Busy Bean, I'll be there in plenty of time."  
"But you're going to be late and then Remy will be disappointed in you. He'll be so upset, and then he'll hate you."  
"Why would he hate me?" Emile's thought was immediate, and with it came a bolt of panic. Would Remy really hate him? Wait, hold on. Something was off here. His inner monologue was being a lot more openly negative than usual. What was different?  
He'd forgotten to take his meds.  
Emile almost missed a step, and fumbled before regaining his balance. That was weird. He hadn't forgotten to take his meds in so long, the break in routine was jarring. It was okay, he could swing by the dorms, take them, and then meet Remy. Nothing to worry about!   
So he did just that. He detoured towards the dorms, and walked in. Remy was known to be erratic on timing, so maybe he could meet Remy just as he was leaving and walk with him to the Busy Bean.  
But he was out of luck. A couple members of the dorm was there, but Remy was not among them.  
"Hey Emile." Dee had once again shoved the coffee table aside in favor of spreading out papers to do his thesis.  
"Hi Dee, sorry, I'm only here for a second, gotta fly!" Emile rattled off as he ducked into his room.  
He kept his meds in the drawer of the nightstand beside his bed. The nightstand sat right in front of his calendar, and as Emile reached into the drawer, his eyes settled on the calendar. He froze.  
"Hey Dee?" He called with what he hoped sounded like a conversational tone.  
"Yeah?"  
"What day is it?"  
"Tuesday. The sixteenth."  
The puzzle pieces clicked into place in his head. Wow, was he fucked today.  
Emile was a psychology student, he knew triggers and warning signs. Before his psychology class in high school, and the dozens of other classes he had taken here at college, he had gone to therapy of his own. He knew what he should do and not do, he knew logically what his best course of action would be.  
None of that stopped him from reverting back to his earliest form of trying to free himself from depression. He shoved the drawer shut and ran.  
Dee looked up just as he crossed the threshold into the common room and towards the door.  
"Emile?" He called, but Emile was already gone, not even bothering to close the door as he ran away.  
Dee looked out the door, dumbfounded for a moment. He started to go after Emile, but realized he didn't have shoes on, and that would be a bad idea. That, and Dee wasn't a very good runner. Emile had been in cross country when he was in high school, Dee had no chance of catching up.  
He thought for a moment. Emile had asked him what the date was, slammed something, and ran. What was going on? What was so important about today?  
"Maybe he was just late for a class," he mumbled to himself. It didn't sit quite right, but he didn't see what he could do.   
He went back to his thesis. Every time he tried to work on it, someone seemed to have a life problem. Maybe he should call up his professor, casually start the conversation with "sorry, I can't do my thesis, it's damaging to my friends' mental health." Yeah, that would go over just great.  
Not even ten minutes later, Virgil stepped in the door, his dance bag slung over his shoulder.  
"Virgil, with all due respect, if you say you're having a midlife crisis right now, I'm going to scream." He said, voice flat.  
Virgil just snorted. "Why so? How many have you had to deal with today?"  
"Two."  
"Ah. Ever tried being-" Virgil waved a hand at his own black jeans and My Chemical Romance shirt. "-less approachable?"  
"Yeah right. I'm the opposite of that. I just attract trouble."  
"Tell it to go away."  
"It doesn't quite work like that."  
"Yeah, I know. Hi Roman."  
The English major was running a hand through wet hair. "Sup, emo. Hey, can I steal your Tide pen? I got blood on my sheets again." He rolled his eyes, as if annoyed with his own actions.  
"Sure." Virgil began digging through his bag. "Stop committing murder in the dorms, it could cost money."  
Roman caught the pen he threw. "Don't I wish it was only murder. Thank you."  
"No problem."  
Dee sighed. "You know, maybe relocating to the library would be less loud and distracting than this."  
"A construction site would be less loud and distracting than these dorms."  
"That's a fair point that I should have realized sooner." Dee started shuffling his papers together and shoving them into assorted folders. He went back into his room, and emerged with his backpack and laptop bag. Once he had all his work in the bag, he shouldered it and gave Virgil a lazy salute before walking out the door.  
"Good luck!" Virgil called. He took his own bag back to his room, and when he had resigned himself to doing his textbook reading for the day, Roman burst into the room.  
"Thank you, Darkest of Them All. How was dancing?"  
Virgil shrugged. "You know. Week of the recital, if it wasn't lunch time, I wouldn't have had the studio to myself."  
Roman snorted. "Don't you mean theater tech week?"  
"Yeah. Thank goodness it's not for another month. How're practices going?"  
Roman scrunched up his nose. "Vee, I love theater as much as the next guy-"  
"More."  
"I love theater more than most-"  
"More than literally anyone I know."  
"I love theater more than even most theater majors..."  
Virgil didn't object, so he kept going.  
"But I can't help but feel like the last few practices have been dragging. If some people..." he coughed, but the word "Josh" came through with startling clarity. "Sorry, if some people would stop being asses and snipping at everybody, that would help a considerable amount."  
Virgil smirked. "Not that you're salty."  
"Not at all, why would you think that?"  
"No reason."  
"Right. Mind if I join you to do homework?"  
"Go right ahead."  
Roman went back to his room and hauled two textbooks to Virgil's room, dropping them onto the bed with a loud thump.  
Virgil looked up. "Do you want some tea?"  
"Please."  
"Is chamomile alright?"  
"Perfect."  
So Virgil went back out to the kitchen, leaving Roman alone to flip through textbook pages. College was great sometimes. The rest of the time, it was a lot of reading.  
He had finished almost two whole pages before he heard Virgil's socked feet making their way back down the hall. And that's when Virgil fell, rather ungracefully to the floor.  
Roman had jumped up and ran towards him before he could even think, and knelt in the puddle of tea on the floor as Virgil raised his head.  
"Ow," he mumbled, before trying to push himself back to his feet.  
"Slow down, what did you hurt?" Roman scrambled to help him.  
"My pride, Princey. I'm fine." Virgil swatted him away, and stood. He looked at the broken mug on the floor and sighed. "But my Nightmare Before Christmas mug isn't."  
Roman pointed. "You cut your arm. Can I?"  
Virgil held out his arm. "Go ahead."  
Roman cupped his hand over the cut, which was bleeding slightly, and his hands began to glow. He felt the cells moving together, mending the tissue and stopping the blood flow.  
"All better!" He declared. "Let me pick up the mug, you can make another batch of tea."  
Virgil nodded. "Let me change my shirt first, I got tea on it."  
Roman nodded and started picking up the larger shards of ceramic. Once he had all of the pieces, he put them into a plastic bag and took it around back to the dumpsters.  
Roman wasn't really big on trash. It was gross, and it smelled. Usually, if he had to take out the trash for the floor, he would open the lid, throw the bag in, and hardly even give it a second glance. But when he opened the dumpster and saw crystal littering the bottom, he swore. There was a lot. He had been with Remus on a couple of his "shatterings", but hadn't really liked them.  
Roman preferred to stew and rant about his problems, not throw and break things because of them. It had been a sore point between the twins ever since Roman had started yelling at Remus while they were in the middle of a shattering.   
He had asked him what was so wrong that he had to do all this just to get his anger out. Remus had yelled right back, saying that it didn't matter, and that not everyone coped the same way Roman did. He was right, but Roman wanted to know what was wrong, he wanted to fix it. So he kept picking, and finally Remus had spun around and threw the crystal right at him. Roman had dodged, and Remus had immediately apologized, but it created a rift that hadn't yet fully healed. Roman had never come on a shattering again.  
Logically, he knew that Remus hadn't stopped the shatterings just because Roman had gotten mad about them, but knowing that and seeing that just hours before, Remus had been in the exact fickle mood that made him want to do this were two very different things.  
As much as they argued, Roman cared for Remus, and he hoped it was the same vice versa. He didn't want to see his twin hurting, and would do a lot to keep him safe and happy.  
Remus didn't know it, but Roman had a copy of his twin's class schedule saved on his phone. He pulled it up. He should be in Expanded Media right now, and would be done in about ten minutes. Roman would meet up with him, convince him to get some food, and try to talk it over. He wouldn't mention the shattering, just that he was worried.  
Perfect plan. He went back into the dorm room and grabbed his books off Virgil's bed.  
Virgil pointed to the mug of tea sitting on the edge of his desk.  
"Sorry, Brendon Fury, I've got some brotherly reconnaissance to conduct."  
Virgil looked up and raised an eyebrow before shaking his head. "You know what? Really not going to ask. I'm drinking your tea though."  
Balancing both textbooks precariously in one hand, Roman grabbed the mug. "No can do. Thermoses do exist, you know."  
"Alright, alright. Go ahead on your quest."  
Roman threw his textbooks back on his bed and poured his tea into a thermos before making his way to the building where the Expanded Media class was. It wasn't far, towards the center of campus, and Roman made it there with minutes to spare. The classroom door was just next to a study corner in the building, with a collection of chairs and tables. Roman could sit there inconspicuously, so he wouldn't look like a stalker, and then greet Remus when he came out.  
He sat down, and waited. A couple minutes later, the door opened and students began pouring out, talking in small groups as they made their way down the hallway in front of Roman. He scanned the crowd, but saw no sign of his brother. He waited until the last students had left and the professor shut the door behind him, turning off the lights.  
Roman consulted his phone again. Had he gotten the wrong class? Time? Day? Semester? But no, this was the right schedule. Meaning Remus was supposed to be in this class, but wasn't.  
He wasn't in the dorms either. Which left exactly one place. Remus wasn't usually predictable, but he was in this regard.  
He made his way to the art room.  
The college's art room was big, taking up the entire back half of the visual arts building. There was a small hallway leading off to the ceramics room, but the main room, as big as a lecture hall, was cluttered with clusters of tables for the art majors to conduct their biggest projects. For Remus, that meant all of them.  
His desk was near the back corner, just next to a window, and Roman glimpsed him sitting there, bent over his current project.  
Roman walked into the room, and a couple of art majors who were there working looked up, but paid him little attention. Remus was so engrossed that he didn't see his twin coming, and his head snapped up sharply when Roman touched his arm.  
"What? Did Dee rat me out?" Remus rolled his eyes and went back to sketching on the canvas in front of him.  
"What? No. I waited outside your last class, I was going to see if you wanted to go for a late lunch."  
"What was my last class?"  
"Expanded Media."  
"Yeah, that. The professor can suck my-  
"Remus."  
"What?" Remus finally looked back up at him. "I don't want to go to that class, so I don't. I'd rather be in here working."  
"But- don't you need that class to graduate?"  
"Yeah, so what?"  
Roman just stared at him, lost for words. "Have you failed it already?"  
"I don't see how I could catch up at this point. It's doesn't matter, Roman."  
"But it does!"  
"If I wanted your input, I would have come and talked to you. Instead, you stuck your oversized nose where it didn't belong," Remus snarked back. "For fuck's sake, couldn't everyone just leave me along today?"  
Dee, Roman recalled. Dee must have figured it out, or something close enough, and had bugged Remus about it. So Remus ran here, just to be confronted by Roman.  
"Okay. I'll leave you alone." Roman took a step back. "Just... I'm here, if you want to talk."  
"I'll keep that in mind." His tone was laced with much more sarcasm than sincerity, but it was something.  
Roman walked out of the visual arts building, and down the sidewalks back to the dorms. What else could he do? It was obvious that pestering Remus would be a mistake, and it would be best to just give him some space, hope he could either fix things himself or come to somebody for help. But then- if Remus did ask him for help, Roman wasn't sure what to tell him.  
It was these exact thoughts that got him distracted enough to run straight into the only other person on the sidewalk, walking the opposite direction.  
He was a lot bigger than Patton, and while he stayed standing, the smaller man stumbled and dropped the two Tupperware containers he was carrying.  
Roman bent down immediately. "Padre, I'm so so sorry, I was-"  
Patton shook his head, and picked up the two containers that had mercifully kept their lids. "It's fine, Princey. Dough big deal."  
Roman raised his head slowly. "You have cookies in those tubs, don't you?"  
Patton beamed. "Croissants, actually!"  
Now it was Roman's turn to shake his head. "If Logan was here, he would have walked away already. Why do you even have two tubs of croissants? Don't tell me that was an assignment?"  
Patton chuckled. "Nope! Just me, baking away. I have too many, so I was going to take one tub to some professors and the other half down to the kitchen staff."  
"Sweet."   
Patton's face broke into a grin. "Roman! Was that?"  
Roman rolled his eyes and laughed. "Maybe, Pat. Have fun with your croissant distribution."  
"Will do."  
Patton kept going along the sidewalk. Honestly, he was just surprised as Roman that the lids of the Tupperware had stayed on, giving how full the containers were. There had actually been another full third tub, but other members of his culinary course had eaten half of that, and the other half were sitting on the counter of the dorm kitchen. If they hadn't been eaten in the last ten or so minutes, that was.  
He was lucky to have permission from Mrs. Dot to personally use one of the stoves in the culinary arts building ever since freshman year when he had miserably mentioned that he wouldn't get to bake his own birthday cake that year. She had seemed shocked, and practically ordered him to use the official kitchens. Ever since, as long as he bought his own ingredients, kept the area clean, and gave her samples of everything he made, he had free reign of those few square feet of the kitchen. It was the best birthday present he had ever gotten.  
He had been almost hesitant to give her his treats the last couple of weeks, only because of the sheer volume. Ever since high school, when Patton was met with any type of stress, he would run to the kitchen and bake until it went away. Slip in his earbuds, pull out ingredients, dust flour off the cookbook or folder of printed-out recipes, and he was lost to the world until he emerged a couple of hours later with treats galore.  
His thoughts turned back to what had him lost in his head when he ran into Roman, weighing his to-do list against baking times.  
He still had a couple of papers to do, along with the reading for chemistry, and who knows what else without checking his calendar.  
Sourdough sounded pretty good- he would stop by the kitchen and make sure his starter was doing well. He could even start the dough and let it rise overnight, as long as he timed it just right so he could have it rising a second time during his morning history class. After that, he could start a second and study most of the time it was rising and the first was baking.   
Not long after being allowed to bake in the kitchen, he had bought a comfortable chair at a furniture store that had been closing. He had stuck it across from the sink, just out of the way, but ready for him to collapse into to study, all sore feet and back from standing hunched over a recipe or mixing bowl for hours on end.   
But for now, he was opening the door of Mrs. Dot's office, already cracked to let students know she was available.  
"Patton! Hello, how are you?"  
"Just peachy. Want some croissants?"  
"Do I ever, you know I would never refuse you anything."  
"Except for those lemon tarts I burnt to a crisp. 325 degrees and 425 degrees are not interchangeable."  
Mrs. Dot smiled at the memory and picked a croissant out of the container. She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Patton waited. She took another bite. He absolutely hated when she did this, made him wait in anticipation.  
"It could have used a little longer in the fridge on the last turn, but otherwise amazing."  
Patton breathed a sigh of relief. Logically, he had tasted the pastry himself, he knew they were good- and possibly even better than that- but it never seemed real until Mrs. Dot had assured him that they were indeed up to his usual quality.  
"Thanks!" Patton placed a few more buttery croissants onto her desk, and put the lid back on the Tupperware. "Enjoy! I'm going to give the rest of these to more professors!"  
Mrs. Dot smiled. "You're a gem, Patton."  
Patton threw her finger guns. "A crystal gem, Mrs. Dot."  
She laughed, and shooed him out of her office.  
He went to the professors in the nearby buildings, all of who broke into smiles at the sight of him with another container of food for them. Again, Patton had really been baking far too much lately.   
Finally, he stopped off at the food hall and gave the rest of the croissants to the workers there.  
The dorm and his kitchen felt almost interchangeable at that point, a place where he could put down his things and relax. But in the kitchen, there weren't any roommates to appease, no one left for him to please except his sourdough starter, which was perfectly happy once he fed it some flour.  
He started baking, turning on Welcome to Night Vale to lull him from the petty problems of this world to the more immediately perilous ones of the small town. Who could worry about grades when your entire town was falling apart at the seams, only for the weather to be cued up and everything to be resolved. If only everything could be fixed that easily, by listening to a song and letting everyone else take care of it.  
He just sort of tuned out, kept letting the podcast run to the end of the episode and start the next one as he mixed and kneaded, and when he finally came back to himself he had three bowls with dough in them, in various stages of rising. The clock read 1:20 in the morning.  
Inexplicably, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Patton just wiped off the counter, set the few dishes that were still dirty in the sink, and picked up his bag. He would come back and clean up in the morning, after a desperate grab at a few hours of sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Logan was, to be honest, a very patient man. He was known to wait for hours just for the proper reaction from his experiments. He would spend long nights at the lab, slipping back into the dorms at an ungodly hour. He would make himself some coffee, only to find Patton coming back from the kitchens, all excuses and blushing at being caught.

But he was not quite as patient with other people as he was with his science.

"He really shouldn't do that," he commented to the laptop screen. "Paul will be quite unhappy."

Virgil shushed him good-naturedly. "You're stressing over my favorite stress relief show. I find that ironic."

Logan gestured to the baker's bowl. "If he doesn't cut up the cherries finer than that, they're going to sink to the bottom of the cake!"

"I didn't know you would get quite so invested in the Great British Baking Show."

"Rest assured Virgil, I am very invested."

Virgil snorted and turned back to the screen. Logan's phone started buzzing, staccato bursts that made Logan get off Virgil's bed where they had been laying to answer it.

"Hello? Yes, I- wait, really?" His voice hit a tone that, if Virgil didn't know any better, would have identified as _giddiness_. But Logan didn't do giddyness. He got excited, sure. Invested, even. But not giddy. "I'll be right there, don't worry, thank you so much."

Virgil arched an eyebrow as he watched his roommate shove on a pair of shoes and grab his keys. "Dude, I respect the methods of your madness, but it is literally almost midnight. And raining. You're seriously leaving?"

Logan turned to Virgil, his eyes sparking even brighter than when he had been awarded second place at the Midway Convention. "You don't understand! This is a monumental breakthrough, it can't wait. I'll take a coat, does that make you feel any better?"

"Slightly. Text me if you're going to be gone all night."

"I will."

And with a swish of his coat, he was gone. Virgil sighed, and clicked play on his laptop once more.

Logan rushed out of the dorms, flicking the hood of his jacket over his head and resisting the urge to run all the way to the Power Studies lab.

He had a lot of... not friends, necessarily, but people he could depend on for a solid answer and a favor every once in a while. One of those people just happened to be Leo, one of the Power Studies course's resident insomniacs.

Logan had asked him to keep an eye on the experiment on Logan's desk. It was very unlikely that it would have any reaction, but in case it did, like it had- well, he had to be there.

Logan was invested in his experiments. He had a passion for them, even if he could talk to absolutely no one about it. Power Studies students didn't really talk about their course. It just didn't happen. They were involved in the rest of the college, various extracurriculars and events, friendly to roommates and even making friends amongst them. But once those friends knew what their major was, they knew not to press for details.

Even within his fellow Power Studies students, Logan couldn't discuss what he was planning. It wasn't exactly allowed, by the council, university, or even government, technically speaking. So maybe he was breaking many, many laws, all at once, but it was all in the name of science, in the name of a good cause. He could really save his mother this way, he would be doing right by her.

The lights in the lab were dimmed, but still plenty bright enough to see by. Leo gave him a quick wave without taking out his earbuds and went back to his frantic writing. Logan nodded back, and went to his own work station. It was about the size of two tables put together, with various boxes sitting underneath.

The beaker on his desk had changed color, from a pale yellow, almost white, to a deep blue. Perfect. Things were going according to plan. Antonio had no need to worry, he would have this done quickly enough that he would have plenty of time to whip up some apologetic reports to present to the council. Everything would work out.

Logan started pulling small bottles out of the box sitting just under the desk. Then, he sat back on the stool just in front of his desk and closed his eyes, activating his power.

He liked with his power. It was an extension of himself, and it just so happened that it was helpful for hiding things that he didn't want found. He was a dimensionalist, and he could create his own pocket world inside his head that he, and only he, could enter and exit as he pleased.

When he entered his dimension, he was greeted with the usual stark whiteness, stretching out as far as the eye could see in all directions, overlaid with black grid lines. Logan waved a hand, and entered one of the world versions he had set up in his dimension- the library.

The white softened into shapes, of arching ceilings and bookcases, modeled after the library in his home town, with a few embellishments. Logan walked past copies of his favorite books and copies of biographies of famous scientists and Power Studies students. He came finally to the wall of bookcases holding his myriads of notebooks. He could never be without his research if he carried it all in his head, so he did just that. He selected the notebook that he wanted, and melted back into the real world.

He opened the notebook to the last page of notes he had left off on and began setting up the next experiments.

He worked for nearly two hours, testing various reactions to the solution, the acidity, the predicted to expected microscopic makeup, the usual. He texted Virgil hourly updates, assuring him he would be back to the dorms by dawn. It was about four by the time Logan put everything away. Even Leo had left at some point.

So he walked back in the dark, enjoying the light breeze blowing through the trees. When Dee, who had lived his whole life in Florida, dared to complain about the "cold", Logan would raise an eyebrow and remember the bitter, freezing winters of Michigan before offering Dee his jacket.

He tried to be as quiet as he could when he slipped back into the dorms, but as he was putting his keys back in their dish on his desk, Virgil raised his head.

"How's it going?"

Logan smiled in the dark. "It's going well. Really, really well."

Virgil hummed a response before letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

It was silent for a bit, but it couldn't have been long after Logan had fallen asleep that Virgil awoke with a start and sat straight up in bed.

He clapper a hand over his mouth, trying desperately not to make any noise to wake his roommate, although the single thing he wanted to do was scream.

When he was confident he could control his volume, he lowered his hand and began a steady murmured chant. "Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare."

He slid out of bed, ignoring the fact that his sheets and blankets were all on the floor, thrown off his bed in a blast of air when he had lost control of his power upon waking in a panic.

He slipped his hoodie on as he padded out to the living room in socked feet. He grabbed a glass, poured himself some water, and sat on the couch, knees to his chest, and sipped it slowly.

His nightmares always left him with a disgusting mix of shaky hands and racing heart, a deep, sinking feeling in his stomach and a pounding in his ears. He had to change his location, drink some water, take deep breaths, and he would begin to calm down. He didn't know how long it was before he heard the tell-tale meow of the floor's resident cat, which meant one of her two owners wasn't far behind.

"Oh, shush." Remy whispered to Sushi. "Don't wake anybody up, girl."

He walked right past Virgil, who almost rolled his eyes. He had a tendency to just blend into the furniture where he was sitting, and it was dark, sure, but come on. Virgil was right there.

"Don't scream," Virgil said, voice barely above a whisper himself.

Remy jumped, and his head snapped around so fast Virgil wondered if he had dislocated it. He squinted at the couch. "Virgil? Geez, how long have you been there?"

Virgil shrugged, and tapped his fingers on the glass. "Five minutes. Not long."

Remy hummed. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Congrats, you're holy now."

"Ah, funny. So funny. Why are you up?"

"I could ask a similar question."

"I asked first."

"Nightmare."

"Storm. There's some lightning, it's freaking me out."

Virgil nodded. Remy had electrical manipulation powers, and while he could be awesome for charging your phone for you, lightning storms tended to make him jumpy and restless.

Remy absentmindedly picked up Sushi and started making little clicking noises to her. She bumped her head against his neck and shoulder, and he walked over to Virgil.

"Put your legs down," he ordered. Virgil did so, and Remy sat Sushi in his lap. Virgil held his hands up as she wiggled around a bit, before circling and laying down on his lap.

"She likes to plop," Remy said with a smile. "She'll just lay wherever I put her. Sorry about the hair though."

Virgil stroked her chin. "It's no problem, I don't mind."

Remy smirked and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, stretching out his legs towards Virgil. He began scrolling through his phone.

"Wanna see some pictures of a dog I got this morning? No wait, yesterday morning?"

"Sure."

Remy showed him the best pictures he had chosen from the shoot, earning himself one of Virgil's rare grins.

"Hey, did you talk to Emile yesterday?" Remy tried to keep his tone casual as he continued to flip through his phone.

"Yeah, he came to watch me practice before he went to meet you for lunch."

Remy's brow furrowed. "He came to meet me for lunch? He never showed up, and told me he wouldn't make it. It was weird."

Virgil shrugged. "He was on his way about ten minutes before, so I don't know."

"I had a later class, it ended around seven, and when I got back, he was asleep. He left a note on my desk that just said 'headache', so I haven't had a chance to talk to him. I'm worried he's mad at me for something."

"Why?"

"I dunno, it's just a feeling."

Virgil snorted. "Yeah, don't always trust those feelings. They're blatant liars most of the time."

Remy was silent for a moment. "Yeah, you're probably right. Thanks V."

"No problem." He slid his hands under Sushi, ignoring her chirps of protest, and put her in Remy's lap. "I'm tired again, I think I'll head back to bed. Do you need anything?"

Remy shook his head. "Goodnight."

"G'night."

Virgil went back into his room, and carefully, quietly, lifted his sheets and blankets back onto his bed before cocooning up in them and falling back asleep.

When he woke up again to his alarm, Logan was gone. Virgil checked the time- just after eight, which meant Logan had probably clocked four or so hours of sleep.

Virgil went out to the kitchen for his necessary cup of coffee and found his thermos sitting in front of the coffee pot. He picked up the thermos, to find it full of coffee, still hot. Sitting under the thermos was a note from Logan.

" _I'm off to the lab, here's some coffee. Have a good day_."

Virgil began drinking, starting to go back to his room to assess what work he had to do that day, when Sushi began wailing. She walked out of Remy and Emile's room, occasionally letting out a pitiful mew.

Dee, who was on the floor once more, typing on his laptop, finally looked up. "Is she okay?"

Virgil shrugged and put down his thermos. "I don't know." He picked her up and held her close, trying to comfort the poor cat. He walked down the hall and nudged open Emile and Remy's door. Remy was fast asleep, his white hair poking up from under the covers, but Emile's bed was made and empty.

Virgil shut the door and continued to murmur softly to the cat. "Emile's not here, are you looking for him?"

Sushi turned, trying to wriggle out of Virgil's grasp. He put her down, and she leaped into the window that faced the main sidewalk from the dorms.

Virgil shook his head sadly. "I can't help you."

Dee frowned, before turning back to his laptop. "It's not like he forgot to feed her."

"I guess she just misses him."

"I guess."

Dee continued to type, watching Sushi out of the corner of his eye, and Virgil went back to his room.

Sushi wasn't usually like this, she only got worked up when Emile hadn't been around for a while, like if he had gone home for the weekend and not taken her with him.

Whatever, it really wasn't Dee's problem. His problem was this stupid thesis. He had a meeting with his advisor on Friday, and had to have more details finalized than he currently did.

Working in the library had definitely helped, but to be honest, he really didn't feel like getting dressed just yet. Wednesday was his easy day, with the least amount of classes, and he thought he deserved to be just a little lazy today. Lazy, but still working on his thesis.

"This will all be worth it," he said to himself, fingers flying over the keyboard as he typed over what he had scribbled in a notebook earlier in the week. "I don't know when, but it will be eventually."

"I sure hope so," Patton said.

Dee looked up.

"It would be a shame to see you stress over this so much for it to not be worth it. Want a croissant?"

"Of course I do."

Patton opened the tiny microwave he had contributed for the floor's use, and put in a croissant. Several seconds later, he opened it and pulled it out, balancing it on the sleeve of his shirt. He crossed over to the middle of the floor where Dee was sitting, and handed him the croissant.

Dee hissed at the heat, but took a bite of the steaming pastry anyways, practically melting at the taste.

"Patton," he said. "You don't bake with flour. You bake with dreams."

Patton giggled. "Aw, thanks. I'm glad I could bake your day!"

Dee just shook his head as he took another bite. "You were late coming back to the dorms last night."

Patton's grin froze. "Oh, yeah. I just lost track of time in the kitchen. Silly me." He laughed, but the few hours of sleep he had gotten had stolen his ability to make it sound genuine.

Dee arched an eyebrow. "Were you baking?"

"Yeah... sourdough."

Dee just hummed, turning back to his laptop. "Are you good?" His tone was softer, in a way that his dorm mates rarely really heard.

"Yeah, just stressed."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! And- and I know I really shouldn't, because you're prepping your thesis, for goodness's sake, and you're handling it just fine. Virgil has his recital this week, Roman's play is in a couple months, Remus has all his art projects, Remy has all those photography assignments, Emile's literally studying pre-med, and Logan is Logan!" He threw up his hands. "And-" his voice cracked. "I don't really have the right to be this stressed and bake through the night, but I still do it..."

Dee stopped feigning inattentiveness and stood, wrapping his roommate in a hug. Patton leaned into the hug and sniffled. They stood there for a while, Dee's thesis forgotten in trying to comfort Patton. Finally, when they pulled apart, Patton wiped his eyes.

"Sorry, thank you."

"It's fine. Pat, you have just as much right as anyone to be stressed. I don't care if your only assignment is to write a single sentence about your day, if it stresses you out, that's alright. You're literally balancing this culinary major, the stress of trying to go on into the restaurant industry, and keeping everyone happy with your food. I'd say that's plenty to deal with."

Patton nodded. "Thank you."

Dee looked at him for a second before closing his laptop. "Why don't we go down to the Busy Bean? We can get some lemonades and those cat-shaped cookies you like."

Patton laughed, but it cut off quickly and he frowned. "No, your thesis! I can't make you stop working!"

Dee waved a hand. "Not a problem. I can take my laptop bag with me, and when you eventually have to leave, I can keep working at the Busy Bean."

Patton smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "That sounds great."

"Alright. Hold on, let me get dressed really quickly." Dee swept together his papers and laptop and started back to his room. In the hallway, which had been deserted for practically hours before that, Remy picked that moment to emerge from his room, hair sticking up and tinted glasses askew on his face. Dee just managed to not run into him as he stumbled sleepily towards the kitchen. He did not manage to avoid rolling his eyes.

Remy didn't even see him, still half asleep as he drifted towards the only thing that could actually wake him up: coffee. As he started the water running for a pot, he scooped up Sushi and held her close, murmuring nonsense to her as he pulled down a mug and waited for his miracle to brew.

He managed to keep hold of the docile cat as he drank his now full cup of coffee, trying to bury his face in her fur between sips.

"Pat," he said. "It's hard to not be a early bird. What's it like?"

Patton seemed to stifle a laugh. "You look.... tired."

Remy groaned, throwing his head back. "I am! How do you even roll out of bed, bright eyed and- and awake? It takes me twenty minutes and two cups of coffee."

Patton shrugged. "I don't know, Rem. Want a croissant?"

Remy looked towards the container on the counter. "Do I ever." He took another long gulp of coffee before putting the cup and the cat down to open the Tupperware. He fished out a croissant and took a bite.

"Delicious!" He declared, and dunked it into his coffee before taking the next bite.

"I'm glad you think-" Patton was cut off as the front door opened, and Emile walked in.

"Oh. Hi," he said. Sushi ran towards him, full speed, and crashed into his legs. Emile smiled and picked her up, nestling her against his cheek. "How's everyone?"

"Emile!" Remy perked up instantly. "I haven't seen you since like, yesterday morning."

Emile smiled, but his lips were tight, nothing like his usual full-mouth grin. "Yeah, sorry about that. I-" he waved a hand, letting his explanation drop off. "I've got to put my stuff away."

He hurried back towards his room.

Patton tilted his head. "Is he okay?"

Remy stared down the hall. "I don't really know."

He followed Emile, downing the rest of his coffee before even stepping into the room.

"What's up?"

Emile jumped a little. "What?"

"Something's wrong, you never just cancel plans, or practically avoid me for two days, what is wrong?"

Emile looked at the floor. "I don't want to talk about it."

"No, Em, that's bullshit. You can't just avoid your problems, you're studying to be a therapist, for fuck's sake, you know that. Talk to me."

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Emile!"

"Remy!" Emile's tone was suddenly harsh. "I don't have to share everything. Yes, we are very close. I care about you deeply. But some things are my own, not to be known by others. Yesterday was a very specific day for me, and I had to grieve by myself. I'm still recovering from that, I'm tired, so just drop it, alright?"

Remy's voice was very small when he answered. "Alright."

He walked past Emile, shoved on a pair of shoes, grabbed his camera bag and sunglasses, and left the dorms altogether.

He stalked towards the park across from the Busy Bean, swapping out his tinted glasses for the full-protection sunglasses.

Why was Emile being so cryptic? He just wanted to help, he couldn't help unless he knew what was wrong! He was grieving, grieving what? Emile shared everything with him, it was against his character to hide things, to avoid the truth like jumping through hoops. Unless he was mad at Remy...

This was ridiculous. He didn't know what to do. How could he help someone who was so determined to hide from him?


	4. Chapter 4

Remus quite enjoyed being an art major- except for the bit where he actually had to go to the boring classes required to complete said art major.

The art room was his haven, the one place in the college where he could be alone to create whatever he wanted, no expectations, and no retributions. Outside the art room, everyone expected certain things of him, tried to shove him into boxes he didn't want to be trapped in, and called his ideas inappropriate and disturbing.

Was it really his fault that his mind drifted towards more uncomfortable topics? That he expressed his creativity in ways that weren't exactly family friendly? Everyone else seemed to think so.

So, if he got shut down or shut up one too many times, he left. He ditched the situation and went to somewhere he was safe. That was the reason he was now missing four classes he needed to graduate next year. The teachers had bored him, or told him his art didn't count. So he had left, flunked the class, and labeled it as a problem for future Remus.

Well, he was future Remus now, and he was reallystarting to hate past Remus. Now, he had to take two of those classes this year, and the other two next year. If he failed any of them, that was it, he was done, no diploma. Part of him decided that was fine, he would just walk out of college entirely. But the other part of him knew that he actually wanted that degree, to prove that the last two and a half years of his life (and a lot of money, even with the scholarship he had gotten) hadn't been wasted.

It gave him a headache every time he thought about it. His advisor, Amelia, was the sweetest woman imaginable, and he knew she was just trying to help him, but she was pretty obligated to push her agenda of Remus You Have To Do This.

On the other hand, Remus had his own agenda of But Amelia I Don't Want To, which he thought had a pretty solid foundation.

He had sat there and heard her spell out those four classes, and the final verdict that he wouldn't graduate if he didn't take them.

She had printed off the graduation requirements and circled four bullet points in a light blue pen. She slid the paper in front of him and arched an eyebrow.

"Four classes, Remus. What is it about these four?"

Remus just crossed his arms and shrugged. "I dunno." He didn't want to be here much more than he would have wanted to be in those classes, but he knew he was absolutely, completely fucked without Amelia, so he would at least pretend to listen.

"Art History II. Expanded Media. Color Theory. Form and Content. What is similar about all these classes?"

Remus stayed silent. He could tell from Amelia's tone and the way she tilted her head, the sunlight reflecting off her huge glasses, that this was a very rhetorical question.

"They're all theoretical classes. You sit there and take notes, never interrupting or correcting the teacher. One is taught by Professor Smallwood, one by Professor Vargas, and two by Professor Hughes. Do you have more problems with the teachers, or the courses?"

"Amelia, I have problems with professors who tell us to shut up and not comment on their lecture at all, because all they care about is having something else to add to their title when they publish their research papers."

Amelia was silent for a moment. "As do I, but unfortunately, the administration doesn't quite see it that way, so we have to tolerate them. How about this, would you rather take both of Professor Hugh's classes at once, or take one this year and the other next year?"

Remus took a deep breath and huffed it out. "At once. I don't want to deal with him longer than I have to."

"Alright. I'll schedule you for Form and Content and Color Theory for the spring semester. They're three hours each, meeting once a week. Do you want to work on the rest of your schedule yet? You're doing remarkably on your credits for the applied classes, so no need to worry there."

"I just want time to work on my projects."

Amelia set down her clipboard and smiled. "What are you working on now? I loved the canvas you did before that had the octopus tentacle border!"

A smile creeped onto Remus' face. It was nice when people actually, genuinely cared about him and his future.

"My next piece is going to be something with more texture, I thought about using broken glass embedded into canvas to make it pop. But I'd have to sand the edges down because we can't just have people cutting off their hands in a bloody mess because of my projects. Unfortunately."

Amelia smirked. "Why do I feel like you would make that part of the art, though? 'The blood splatters really add a pop of color' or something."

"And now you understand how I think."

"Well, good luck with that. Remus, can I trust you to go through with these classes? It's your last shot."

The smile vanished off Remus' face, and he shrugged. "I'll work on it."

Amelia gave him a tired smile. "I can work with that."

"Yeah, thanks." Remus stood from the plush chair, and left the office.

He might be able to do this, if he was able to be quiet and unobtrusive, but when had he ever done that willingly?

"You don't exactly have a choice this time, either." A voice in the back of his head told him.

"Yeah yeah, shut up," Remus mumbled.

He went back to the dorms, and immediately decided to make himself some coffee. He set the water to boil, and as it did, he walked into the room he shared with Roman.

"Hey."

"What's the word for the opposite of being really skilled at something?"

"Beginner, amateur, clumsy, sloppy."

"Thanks."

"I scheduled my classes for next semester."

"Planning on skipping those as well?"

"No, actually, Amelia finally convinced me. Have you written me my slow burn, 100k smut fic about me and-"

"No."

Remus just snorted. As much as he pretended otherwise, he hated arguing with his brother and much rather enjoyed this banter. He would sell Roman to the devil for a bag of Cheetos, but he would also kill fo him. "But I'm your biggest fan! Your oldest beta! Don't I deserve some kind of thanks?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Want some coffee?"

"As long as you don't put anything in it, you nasty."

"You just have no taste."

Remus went back to the kitchen and poured two mugs of coffee, splashing a generous amount of orange juice into his own cup, leaving Roman's untouched.

"Did you seriously just put orange juice in your coffee?"

"Don't judge me, Sleeping Beauty."

"Aww, you think I'm beautiful. And don't worry, I'm judging you thoroughly."

Remus stuck out his tongue.

"Girl, if only I had my camera, that would make one hell of a reaction pic." Remy smirked and crossed his arms. "Are you sure you don't want to try some good coffee? Or have you ruined your taste buds already?"

"You should try it sometime. The orange juice adds a sexy zing."

"Absolutely disgusting, I actually have a palate, thank you very much."

Remus just laughed and picked up the two mugs of coffee, walking away.

Remy shook his head and filled his thermos with the rest of the coffee Remus hadn't used. Orange juice, _honestly_. He couldn't believe it.

He had come back to the dorms not long after storming away, only to find Emile gone again. He really couldn't be mad at Emile- any and all anger just evaporated into worry. Emile didn't act like this, he was calm and collected, he didn't do silence and avoidance.

Well, Remy guessed that now he did. He huffed a sigh of frustration. If Emile would just stay in the same room as him for long enough to have a proper conversation-

They talked to each other about everything. Emile had been the first person he told about him being ace, and the only person in the entire state of Florida who knew about that time he shaved his head during middle school back in Oklahoma.

Emile had told him about his worries about becoming a therapist, and Remy had helped him through some of his worse depression days.

They were basically a pair at this point, Remy and Emile, even though they weren't properly dating. They shared lunch every Tuesday, they spent long nights watching cartoons or paranormal documentaries, they played with each other's hair and fell asleep in the other's bed. Emile's cross stitching projects always ended up on Remy's bed, buried under his myriad of blankets to keep Sushi from finding and chewing on them, and Remy stashed an extra pair of sunglasses in one of the coffee mugs on Emile's desk.

Despite all that, Remy hadn't quite ever mustered up the gut to formally ask Emile out.

With anyone else, he wouldn't have hesitated- what was the worst they could say? No? But with Emile, it felt like he already had something special, and why break that by trying to achieve anything else?

But even that was feeling broken by this one thing, this gap that seemed to grow bigger every time Remy made a move to jump across it. He was worried he would lose Emile all the way on the other side, and that he wouldn't get him back. He really wanted him back.

Remy walked back to his room and sat down at his desk. Sushi walked by and rubbed against his ankles, and he reached down to pet her absentmindedly. Then he started to organize his desk, moving his camera bag and the various piles of paper that were only partially organized. That's when a thought struck him. Emile hadn't left him a post-it note this morning.

Something twisted in his stomach. Obviously, Emile wasn't obligated to leave him those notes, but it was always so nice... a reminder that Emile cared for him.

He took another sip of coffee, rummaged around in one of the desk drawers, and found what he was looking for- the giant post-it notes, about the size of four index cards put together. He gave Sushi another pet, and started writing with one of his glitter pens he reserved especially for Emile.

When he was done, he put the note- more like a confession, really- on Emile's desk. Then he checked the time, grabbed his bag, and left.

The room stood empty for almost an hour, save for Sushi napping contentedly on Remy's bed. Then, Emile opened the door. Sushi looked up at him and he smiled at her.

"Hey Sue, do you how do?"

She gave a small noise in reply and he laughed. "That's good." He set down his bag beside her and opened it, levitating out two folders and a book. He moved to set them on his desk, and that's when he noticed the paper sitting there, in Remy's handwriting.

"Oh," he breathed, and picked it up. He waved a hand to put down the textbooks and took a seat on the edge his bed as he read over the note, petting Sushi with his free hand.

" _Emile, I'm sorry I pushed you to talk. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but let me help you, instead of running away? I'll do anything for you a thousand times over. Just ask me, the answer is yes. That being said, I'll share something I've been keeping secret as an apology. I love you, you are my everything. I'm the Greg Universe to your Rose Quartz, constantly in awe of your brilliance and beauty. Just don't leave me like she did? -Remy_ "

Emile almost felt like crying. "This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," he told Sushi. "He's so nice, he actually likes me back? I can't believe it."

Sushi offered no advice, only bumping against Emile's hand so he would pet her. He obliged and read over the note another three, four, maybe five times.

It was like his life was imploding, first in the worst way possible, and then the exact opposite. Remy. The thought that he might actually want to be his sent shivers of excitement down his spine just like when a new season of one of his favorite shows was announced. A single glance into the future, where anything was possible and happiness gleamed bright.

He put the note back on his desk, smiling at it, and walked out into the living room.

"Hey Lo, do you know where Remy went?"

Logan looked up from where he was sitting with his laptop. "He left with his camera bag nearly-" he checked his watch "-an hour and a half ago."

"Oh, thanks anyways. How're you doing?" Emile flopped down onto the couch beside Logan.

At this, Logan beamed. "I'm making massive strides in my research! My current project should be done soon!"

He didn't really care that he was revealing more than he should, Logan was just so relieved that the solution for his mother was so close to completion.

Then, he would just have to make up something for the council. In his few moments of spare time, his mind had been drifting towards what he could do. Maybe he would ask Virgil if he could conduct a few brief experiments on his air power and ask some questions about the elemental lineage in his family.

It was a fascinating, if already thoroughly researched topic. Elemental powers were the powers most tied to genetics. If both parents were elementalists, it was incredibly rare to not have an elemental child, a deviation from the rest of the powers, where random inheritance was expected.

Logan's power was a subcategory of space, and his mother's was a subcategory of mind, but her sister was a freeform telekinetic, and her brother was a direct teleportic.

"That's great!" Emile answered with a matching smile. "I'm sure you'll do great."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Logan returned to his laptop, where he was typing up the conclusion to a paper he had due for a class soon.

But just then, they both jumped as an alarm started going off. Dee's phone was sitting on the coffee table, and it was buzzing and chiming. Emile leaned forward and picked it up hesitantly.

"Dee?" He called down the hallway.

There was the sound of a door opening, and Dee emerged from his room. He was wearing his shirt that proclaimed that "I'm not crazy. The world is."

He squinted at Emile momentarily, before shaking his head. "You can turn it off," he said.

Emile tapped the phone, and it went silent. Dee ducked back into his room.

"Going somewhere?" Emile asked to the open door.

After a few moments, Dee reappeared, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

"I left it out here so I wouldn't get distracted. Do you know what today is?"

"Friday?" Logan offered.

Dee's head snapped towards him, and Logan noticed the crazed look of someone who had most definitely pulled an all-nighter. "It is Crunch Day, Logan. I have to present my finished, detailed thesis outline to my advisor tomorrow, and it is most definitely not done yet."

He held out his hand to Emile for his phone, but Emile held on to it and arched an eyebrow. "Have you been taking breaks?"

Dee pursed his lips. "The walk to the library and changing of locations is my break. I'll be fine, it should only take me a few more hours, and then I swear I'll sleep all afternoon until Virgil's recital."

Emile sighed and handed Dee back his phone. "Take care of yourself, or I swear to the Avatar, I'll make you."

Dee offered a smile. "Doctor's orders. I swear, once I'm done with this whole thesis, I'm going to dye my hair. What color do you think?"

Emile shrugged. "I mean... I always think pink is a good color." He gave his own hair a very unsubtle fluff.

Dee snorted. "Sound advice."

Emile nodded decisively. Logan stood. "I'll come with you as far as the Power Studies lab, I should probably go work anyways."

"Alright, I'll wait on you," Dee said, putting his bag on the floor next to him. The moment Logan got up from the couch, he collapsed onto it, head in Emile's lap.

Emile laughed and began to run his fingers through Dee's hair as Logan shook his head fondly and left to put his shoes on.

The two left shortly after, and Emile was alone again. He closed his eyes and basked in the sun, thinking again about Remy's note. He was going to get it laminated, and Remy would never live the confession down.

He got up and walked into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. Once he had mixed the water and the instant powder, he put the mug in the microwave. He pulled out the steaming drink and started to walk out of the kitchen.

Then Remy walked in the front door.

Emile put down his mug immediately and ran to meet him.

Remy let out a little noise of surprise as Emile barreled into him. "Hi," he said, reaching down to hold Emile.

"I'm yours."

Remy wrapped his arms around Emile's head, pulling him even closer. "I'm yours too. Forever and always."

They stayed there for a ridiculous amount of time before Emile finally wiggled out from the hug. "I had hot chocolate," he said, laughing.

"Well, even as your beloved boyfriend, I couldn't compete with hot chocolate."

"Maybe in time."

In the Power Studies lab, Logan chewed on his lip, a habit he had picked up in high school that had led him to many a bleeding and swollen lip. He had mostly dropped it since, but whenever he got particularly worried, it came back to haunt him.

He stared at the pH result in front of him. Acidic. That was all wrong, it was supposed to be basic for at least another month. True, it had the chance of souring over time, but surely not this quickly?

Logan shook his head in disgust and grabbed the beaker, closing his eyes and disappearing into his dimension. He entered his mental lab. He didn't usually construct experiments here, because it was just too unsteady of an environment and he preferred to test things in a physical world, but it would do when he had to make things vanish.

He opened the fridge, set the beaker inside, and pulled out a smaller vial of the same milky white substance. He had kept half of the main solution in his dimension, just in case something like this happened and he wanted to continue his research on short notice without going back through ingredients and mixing and waiting periods.

He entered the physical world again, and set the vial in a stand.

He turned around to grab a dropper of blue iodine. He added two drops into the solution, and watched as they spread like puddles in the white mix. But then something went wrong. It began to bubble, and before Logan could even make a move to pick up the vial, it overflowed, rivulets of the blue substance running down the sides, pooling on the table. It ran onto Logan's notebook, and he snatched it up, before having to set it back down again to grab a rag from the table behind him.

The mixture finally settled, having turned an ugly black, and the mix on the table became sticky, staining Logan's fingertips a deep navy.

Logan sighed as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket, his alarm sounding that he had to leave for Virgil's recital soon. He silenced the alarm, wrapped the vial in the rag, and set the ruined mixture down on the counter in his dimension. He sighed and reached into the fridge, pulling out the other half of the solution. Yes, the pH had gone wrong earlier, but as long as it stayed cold, it would be fine for another week before it soured beyond use. He could still salvage this opportunity. It would be a short window of time, sure, but it was possible.

He would have to act tonight. He hated to ruin Virgil's big night, but honestly, after all of this was done and over, he doubted he would even see his roommate ever again.

He would head back to the dorms, put everything he would need from his room into his dimension, and leave the rest. He would have to leave Virgil to clear it out, but what choice did he have?

He returned to the real world, sprayed the sticky table, and began to scrub it clean of any evidence. When he was done, he threw that dirty rag into his dimension as well.

"This is all wrong," he muttered as he left the Power Studies lab, slamming the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Patton walked out of his last class of the day, head spinning with information for the latest paper he had been assigned. He shook his head, and came to the split in the sidewalk. He instinctively turned left down the sidewalk that led to the kitchens, but he had barely made it two more steps before he turned sharply on his heel and spun around, going to the right instead, towards the library.

"Sorry!" He said hastily to the two girls he had almost run into. The murmured back forgiveness and kept talking between themselves.

He couldn't just outrun this project, go to the kitchen and bake until he hoped his troubles would all go away. He actually had to tackle them, and make some progress before resorting back to kneading dough. So he went to the library, found a seat at a table by a window where he could comfortably sprawl out with his textbook and notebook, and began outlining his essay.

It was surprisingly easy to focus once he had formed a sound bubble around himself with his Power that blocked out the noises of the other students around him. He started up music to play as he worked and thought that he should probably try this more often.

He couldn't have been in the library for more than an hour when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Patton paused his music and lowered the sound bubble to find Virgil standing behind him.

"Hey Virge!"

"Hey Pat, how're you?"

"I'm alright, just working on a paper." He gestured to the notebook in front of him.

Virgil nodded, then bit his lip. "Are you coming to the recital this evening?"

Patton beamed. "Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Virgil blushed. "I really hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will, it'll be beautiful." Patton poked his side playfully. "Because you're dancing in it."

Virgil's blush deepened. "Thanks. Good luck with your paper."

"Thank you, kiddo. Break a leg tonight."

Virgil smiled and ran a hand through Patton's hair as he left the library.

He had decided to give his sore leg muscles a rest before the recital and had sat down in the library for a couple hours to study and copy his notes from class into neater handwriting. Sometimes his hands shook during lectures so much that the notes were barely legible, so he tried to rewrite them while he still remembered some of the context. It was supposed to help make sure he wasn't panicking quite as much when finals rolled around. Key words there being 'quite so much'.

When he got back to the dorms, the living room was suspiciously empty. Virgil bit his lip, and put his bag back in his room before changing into a pair of yoga pants. He crept through the dorm, and found that other than Dee, who was dead asleep, he and Roman were the only ones there.

"Hey Roman," he said, entering the other's room.

"Yes, heart of old?" Roman leaned back from his notebook, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm anxious. Can you please talk as I stretch?"

"Of course. My voice, as you know, is quite wonderful. What shall I talk about?"

Virgil shrugged. "How did your brotherly reconnaissance go?"

Roman snorted as Virgil began to swing one leg back and above his head, grasping his ankle with one hand as he held the other against the wall.

"I don't think I really did anything. I guess maybe he realized that he didn't actually want to fail his classes and maybe graduate at the end of all this? He just came back to our room and said he was going to make up the classes, and I left it at that. Remus really isn't the type for a heart-to-heart."

Virgil chuckled from his precarious position on one leg. "I'd say you're right. How's your practices coming?"

Roman took a deep, slow breath before answering. "If not for the laws of this land, Josh would no longer be among the living."

Virgil burst out laughing and lost his position. "Princey, that is such a mood, you don't even know."

Roman smirked. "Nice to know I could topple The Great Balanced One."

Virgil shook his head. "Keep talking, you Royal Annoyance."

"It would be my pleasure. Hm, I entered another writing contest. One of my professors heard about it and recommended it to the class."

"Sweet, what did you write about?"

"It was the difference between what the world saw as our defining trait and what we saw as a defining trait."

"That's deep." Virgil returned to standing on two feet and began stretching his arms.

"Yeah. I wrote about being a male healer being what the world saw, and my writing being what I saw. Y'know, going against the norm versus expression."

Virgil nodded, before giving Roman a conspiratorial glance. "Any prize money being offered?"

"About a hundred dollars. Hey, I have to make side cash somehow. Remy works, Logan tutors, Patton sells things at bake sales, you work at that dance studio downtown, Remus does-" Roman's face scrunched up. "-whatever he does. I write moving pieces for judges to put up against innumerable others and wait months for results to see if what I poured my heart into was good enough for them. No biggie."

Virgil raised his eyebrows and stared at Roman for a long moment. "No biggie at all, sounds like a breeze. Princey, are you sure you're good?"

"Virgil, I am hanging onto life by the coffee I had this morning and the knowledge that you would all be devastated at the loss of my gorgeous face."

The dancer just shook his head and interlocked his fingers, raising them high above his life. "I'd wear my blackest black to your funeral."

"Ah, why thank you." Roman smirked and checked the time on his phone. "Sorry, I've got to get going. I got in trouble for being late to my Euro lit class once this week, I'd rather not repeat that performance. I'll see you at your recital tonight, break both legs and an elbow."

"Thanks Princey. Have fun dissecting the works of Kafka."

"Oh, I will."

Virgil walked back to his own room, only glancing at his laptop before falling backwards onto his bed, messing up the neatly made comforter. He wasn't even going to think about doing homework- today was a performance day, and trying to work on anything else would only get half of his attention.

Logan appeared in the doorway. Virgil rolled his head to the side and glanced up at him. "Hey Lo. What's up?"

"Virgil?" Logan's voice had a strange, hollow ring to it.

"Yes?"

"What would you do if you didn't have your powers anymore?"

Virgil's blood rushed hot in his veins, and an uneasy feeling knotted his stomach. "What?" He sat up, looking quizzically at his roommate.

Logan's eyes lost the glaze, and he shook his head. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Of course. There's no way anyone could lose their powers. It doesn't happen."

"But hypothetically, if you no longer had your air powers, what would you do?"

Virgil felt his pulse flutter even faster. Why in the world was Logan pushing this nonexistent, impossible, absolute worst case scenario?

"My power is me, I guess it would be like losing a part of my soul. Elemental powers affect the body, so I guess that I wouldn't be able to breathe quite as well, and I use air to fix my hair a lot, and I don't know, probably a lot of things I don't even think about."

Then Virgil shook his head. "But no, it's not going to happen. Why do you ask?"

Logan shrugged, still not moving from the doorway. "I'm a Power Studies student. I'm just examining many angles for my next project."

"Alright, L. It's just creepy, I don't even want to think about it."

"That's fair. Good luck at your recital, I'll be there."

"Thanks."

Logan left, and Virgil clenched his fists, grabbing handfuls of the cover below him.

"That was so weird," he whispered to the empty room.

A few hours later, all the members of the floor were waiting out in the hallway for Virgil and the rest of the performers to emerge for their congratulations. It had been a really stunning performance, and Virgil would likely be happy and flushed, as he always was after such a good one.

Patton and Remy were excitedly talking about the performance, dancers, and costumes, while Roman, Dee, and Remus were discussing if they should go down to the ice cream parlor downtown with Virgil to celebrate.

"Emile." Emile looked back to find Logan, who had grabbed onto his arm.

"Yes?"

"Can you come with me for a moment?"

Emile's stomach dropped at the low, serious tone of Logan's voice. "Virgil will be here soon, we can't-"

"Please, it will only take a moment, trust me. I really need your help."

Those last words overrode Emile's worry and sent him into helping mode. "I-alright."

Logan, still with a slightly too-tight grip on his arm, steered him down the hallway and out one of the side doors.

"Where are we going?"

"It's not far."

There were clouds in the sky, hiding any stars, and it was starting to rain- a light sprinkle that made Emile's light blue shirt look speckled.

He pursed his lips. "Is everything okay?"

"It will be."

Neither one of them said another word until Logan stopped at a building Emile had never been into.

"Logan?" Emile's heart started pounding. "This is the Power Studies lab."

"Yes, it is." Logan scanned his keycard on the lock, and it beeped, unlocking the door. Logan pulled on the handle and waved him forward.

Emile took a step back. "No, I'm not a Power Studies student, I'm not supposed to be here."

"I'm a Power Studies student, and I'm allowing you access. Come on, _please_."

Against every instinct, Emile stepped inside. Logan had to scan through another door before entering the main building, which smelled of chemicals and disinfectant.

All the lights were off, and their footsteps sounded loud in the otherwise silent building. Logan moved effortlessly around tables and desks even in the dark, and Emile had no choice but to follow him.

He finally stopped at one desk, and flipped on a lamp. Emile blinked in the sudden light, but Logan just started rummaging through a box under the table. He threw a notebook onto the surface, and a pen followed suit.

Then, he was holding a small vial of milky white liquid. He swirled it around, holding it up to the light of the lamp, and Emile noticed it had a light blue tint to it.

"I'm going to lose my scholarship," Logan said. "By tomorrow, the council will decide to evict me from the Power Studies course. I will then lose my scholarship, and my entire enrollment for the college. I will be sent back home, with no degree and no money. This is my last hope." He held the vial up.

"That's... a lot of pressure," Emile commented. His heart was still racing, but he trusted Logan. He wanted to help his dorm mate.

"It is." Logan held up a white mug. "You have freeform telekinesis. How much weight can you lift?"

"At least a person, I've never tried much over say, a hundred and fifty pounds."

"Okay, can you levitate this for me?" Logan held out an empty white mug.

"Of course." Emile held out a hand and took over the object, hovering it a few inches off the desk.

Logan picked up his notebook. "Higher, please. A few feet."

Emile obliged, and Logan started scribbling. When he looked up, he pressed his lips together and handed Emile the vial, now uncorked.

"As the experiment that will save me, I need you to drink this."

Emile nodded, even as every iota of his being told him not to. "I hope this helps," he said, with a small chuckle as he brought the vial to his lips. With only a second of hesitation, he downed the liquid.

It burned in his throat, like bad alcohol.

Then, it pulled.

Emile felt like his heart was being pulled out through his nose. His chest exploded with pain, and he heard a crash as he dropped the mug.

"Oh dear, does it hurt?" Logan's voice sounded like it was coming from down in a well.

Emile was sure he had cried out at some point, and now he could only gasp as he tried to breathe.

And as suddenly as it had come, it stopped. Now, his head pounded and spun like it did just before a migraine, and he felt vaguely like throwing up.

"What-" he panted before continuing. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry, Emile. You will wonder for a long time, but know that above all, I truly am sorry. Can you levitate one more thing for me?"

"What?" He was so confused, and it was hard to focus because it still hurt.

"Even though I put you through some unfortunate pain, you should still be able to activate your power, right?"

"Yeah, but can I have a sec? I-" Emile gave up trying to talk, and looked at the ground, still breathing hard.

"One thing. A pen, that's all."

"If you call an ambulance, sure."

"Just a pen, Emile."

Emile looked up, and though a few black spots swam in his vision, he saw Logan holding a pen. Emile raised a hand to activate his power, and screamed.

Logan dropped the pen to the floor, and holding his notebook tight to his chest, ran from the room. He had his evidence, he had his test done, he could go save his mother.

Logan couldn't talk about his projects to anyone, and had to essentially lie of omission Emile into helping him, because the experiments he was conducting were not designed to develop the world of powers, like the rest of his fellow students were striving to do. Logan was the only student in these halls to try to take away those powers instead.

He had his reasons. Logan was many things- smart, organized, and patient- but reckless and hurtful were not among them. He did this for exactly one reason: to save his mother.

His mother's power was siren call, and when she sang, anyone in the vicinity would become weak-legged and mindless, wanting nothing more than to listen to the beautiful music. It made their minds malleable and open to suggestion. If handled incorrectly, it could cause someone under the user's control to change their very personality.

Annabella, his mother, had done some questionable things with her powers. Logan knew she wasn't proud of what she had done, especially after it killed her husband. Annabella had sworn to never use her power again, and hadn't spoken a word since that night at the hospital, terrified that she would hurt someone again, even accidentally.

Logan was her whole world after his father died, and as aboy he had made sure she didn't fall away too. But now, with being off at college, she had no one to help her, no one to keep her afloat. Logan had made her a promise before he had left Michigan his freshman year.

"I will bring you back something to make all the pain go away."

Her eyes had lit up with hope, in that same way they did when she signed to him that she was proud of him. Logan would do anything, absolutely anything, to make sure that hope didn't die in her.

The only catch was, this was all very illegal work. Now that Emile was... incapacitated, the police would be on him within the hour. He needed to be out of town, and back home before he could be traced. He had given the college a fake address for that reason. It would lead them to the court house of a minor town in the state of Washington, far away from his real home, and he would gladly trade the necessary year or so of laying low for his mother to be happy again.

As he continued running down the sidewalks towards the parking lot where he kept his car, he wished that he had taken the time when he was younger to develop his distance skills in his dimension.

Dimensionalists tended to focus on either extending time or distance in their dimension. Some could be gone for mere seconds in the real world, while they had spent hours in their dimension, or walk only a handful of steps in the dimension and melt back into the real world miles from where they had started.

Logan had known a person back in high school who had honed their distance capabilities to the point of traveling across the country multiple times a day to meet up with friends, or deliver packages for the side business they ran.

Wishing for that skill didn't help him now, especially when hands grabbed him from behind. Logan's momentum was stopped suddenly, and he was engulfed in strong arms, hugging him close to a large chest.

"Stop."

Dee's voice was naturally deep, but when he activated his power, Command, it was even lower. Logan could almost feel the vibrations as his muscles froze, obeying Dee's command. He was trapped.

"What is going on?" Dee demanded. "You and Emile just _left_ , we came to find you, and we heard a scream. I saw you running, and I sprinted to grab you. Are you hurt?" His voice dropped again. "You may move."

Logan regained control of his limbs once more, and although they felt like jelly, he took an unsteady step forward. "I am not hurt. Emile is in the Power Studies lab, and again, _I am sorry_."

Logan fell into his dimension, and his body disappeared from the real world. He wasn't good at long distances, but he could probably get him from here to the parking lot if he had to.

When he reemerged, he was across the lot from his little blue car. A record-time sprint later, he tossed his notebook onto the passenger seat, fished out his keys, and started the car. He didn't use it much throughout the week, but on the weekends, he sometimes went to the next town over for anything that couldn't be obtained on campus, and he drove home for some of the holiday breaks.

He pulled out of the lot, and pushed just past the speed limit on his way off campus. The authorities would be searching for him soon, he had to have as good a head start as he could manage. His eyes turned glassy with tears, and he blinked them away furiously as his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

This would fix everything.

Right?


	6. Chapter 6

When Virgil emerged from the changing room, his eyes swept his small assembly of people gathered to congratulate him. His smile lessened just a little.

"Where's Logan? And Emile?"

Everyone had _promised_ to be there, and Virgil didn't know why either of them would skip out. Not that they were obligated or anything, but he had been sure-

Patton turned, and realized that neither man was there. "They were both just here a second ago."

"Oh." So at least they had both seen his performance. Virgil supposed he was fine with that. They didn't have to stay after if they didn't want to, and he would see both of them before very long.

But Remy shook his head. "Emile didn't say he was leaving. He would have told me. Something's wrong." He turned and started walking towards the exit. He paused, and called back, "Virgil, amazing job."

"Thanks."

Remy began jogging out the door, and Virgil stared after him for a second before speaking again. "He's right, I have a bad feeling about this. Let's go."

He began to go after Remy, and the remaining four men looked at each other for only a brief moment before following.

They all burst into the night air, an angry wind biting at their faces.

Remy was running south, towards the dorms and Power Studies lab. Dee began to sprint to catch up with him, and that's when they heard the scream that split the night air.

Time stopped. There was nothing, no sensation except for Remy's feet hitting the sidewalk, his breaths coming out in quick gasps.

Emile was on the ground just outside the Power Studies lab, curled up in the fetal position and alternating between heavy breaths and screaming.

The sounds tore out of his chest, without him being fully aware that he was doing it. He inhaled air and exhaled it in a scream, trying to banish the pain that had settled deep, deep in his bones.

Remy fell to his knees in front of Emile, holding him tightly against the wind. He shushed Emile, rocking him back and forth, running a hand through his hair. Emile began to sob.

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

Emile could hardly breathe. "Logan. Lo, he-" he could hardly speak through the tears. "He did- did something... bad."

Remy tightened his grip on Emile. Dee had just skidded to a stop in front of him, and he looked up. Dee balked at the rage in Remy's eyes and took a step back.

"Logan. Logan hurt Emile. Can you find him?"

Dee nodded, and took off down the sidewalk.

The rest of the group had crowded around Emile.

Virgil had his phone out. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Roman knelt beside Emile. "Hey, hey, let me get a look at him, it might just be internal bleeding or a ruptured appendix."

Others had heard Emile's cries and started to gather, but Remus was keeping them back.

"We've got it, we have a healer, we've got pros on their way, get the fuck away! This concerns none of you!"

One man- a journalist student, from the look of his painfully creased polo shirt and ID tag on a lanyard- tried to shove past Remus, but swiftly received a kick in the shins.

"Get away from my friend," Remus growled, and the student scurried away.

Patton took a few hesitant steps towards Emile, and raised a hand, before murmuring, "Can I?"

Remy nodded, and Patton drew his hand down through the air. Emile's screams lowered in volume, as if being turned down by a television remote. His mouth still opened, and his body was racked with desperate sobs, but nothing was audible to the people around them.

Roman, on the other hand, was muttering furiously as his hands skimmed over Emile, palms only glowing briefly as he healed a small paper cut or bruise, but never settling on anything concrete.

"I don't know what's wrong, no internal cuts, nothing broken, nothing anywhere on his head, no concussion, nothing. It's almost like there's something _missing_ , he doesn't feel complete."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Remy snapped.

"I don't know!"

Remy ran his hand through his hair, and it began to crackle with static.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and Roman balled his fists before trying once more to find a physical injury on the man.

Emile was still shaking, although the silent screams were now farther apart. Either the pain was lessening, or he had less energy to fight it with.

When the ambulance pulled up to the curbside, Roman leaped up and held up his left hand, showing the ambulance crew his healer mark. "I'm the current healer, there is nothing physically wrong with the victim, no broken bones or lacerations internally or externally. But the victim is in a great deal of distress-" he was cut off by one of Emile's screams as Patton was forced to lower the sound barrier, and he flinched.

The two paramedics looked at each other, and Roman hurriedly added, "He's shaking, and there's something... unusual that I can't identify."

The medics went over to where Emile was still on the ground. They tried to make Remy move aside, but Remy just held tighter and barked back a reply. The two didn't press the issue, and began to look over Emile themselves.

They seemed to come to the same puzzling conclusion as Roman, and pulled the stretcher down from the ambulance. They managed to load Emile onto the bed, and along with Remy, climbed into the ambulance. The vehicle sped off down the street, sirens wailing.

The street was eerily silent for a long moment, then Virgil looked up to see Dee jogging back down the sidewalk. "I just called campus security, Logan is trying to leave by the south side. He used his Power to escape. He did something, he apologized to Emile." He looked around the street. "Was he in that ambulance I just passed?"

Virgil nodded. "Why don't we just head back to the dorms? There's nothing left for us to do."

The five walked back in silence. They all disappeared to their respective rooms, except for Virgil.

He opened the door to his and Logan's shared room, and immediately noticed that the desk was missing the dish that Logan always put his keys, glasses, phone, and wallet in. A quick glance under the bed and in the closet showed that his suitcase and a few sets of clothes were also gone, along with a picture of Logan and his mother that usually sat on the dresser between the two beds.

But Virgil was really fine with all of this until he saw that the glow-in-the-dark stars that Logan had spent at least an hour meticulously organizing on the ceiling were gone as well. That was when he grabbed a blanket off his bed and went to go sleep on the couch.

The next morning, Virgil woke to Remy and Emile walking in the door, Remy looking like he had slept standing up, and Emile wrapped in a cheap blanket, holding it close like it was his lifeline.

"You guys are back!" Virgil threw his own blanket to the floor and rolled to his feet. "Emile, are you alright?"

The pink-haired student shrugged. "They couldn't find anything wrong with me. It doesn't hurt anymore, but I can't levitate anything."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just... not working. When I try, it really, really hurts." Emile's gaze slipped to the floor, where Sushi came running up to meet him. He crouched down and began petting her.

Remy took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. "I think we need to get everyone together and talk."

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"Almost nine. Go get everyone up?"

"Sure."

Remy knelt down beside Emile to pet Sushi. "I'll feed her, you can go sit on the couch."

Emile hummed an agreement, and he sat on the end of the couch, knees to his chest, before burying his face in the blanket. Any other time, he would have picked up the blanket that Virgil had thrown on the floor and lightly admonished him for being messy, but now he just stepped over it.

Remy reached into the cabinet and just managed to reach a tin of food for Sushi, who was now weaving in and out of his legs in an excited patter.

Once she was fed, Remy came over to the couch, folded the discarded blanket, and draped it over the couch before snuggling up next to Emile.

"You alright?" He whispered.

Emile shrugged.

Roman and Remus came down the hall in sweatpants and t-shirts.

"We're all skipping classes today," Roman said as he sat down cross-legged on the floor across from Emile.

Patton and Dee followed them only a moment later, trailed by Virgil, who took the last seat on the couch. The other two completed the circle on the floor, and they all just looked at Emile expectantly.

"Why don't you just tell us what happened last night?" Dee said softly.

Emile walked them through how Logan had led him to the Power Studies lab and explained that he was about to lose his scholarship.

He laughed hollowly at that. "I thought he was my friend, one of my dorm mates. I thought sure, I could trust him. I guess not."

When Emile was done, Virgil mentioned the last time he had talked to Logan, when the Power Studies student had asked him what it would be like if he lost his powers.

Everyone was silent for a long moment.

When Emile spoke again, his voice broke. "So, I'll never have my power again?"

"That's what was missing," Roman said.

Everyone looked at him. "When I tried to heal Emile last night. It felt like something was missing, I guess it was his Power. I've never felt someone without a Power, it felt so... hollow."

There was a sudden knock on the door. Everyone tensed, but no one moved.

The knock came again, and Remy rose slowly from the couch. He opened the door to a woman insuit.

"FBI," she said in a clipped tone. "We're here for Emile Picani."

Remy almost visibly bristled. "What do you want with him?"

The woman arched an eyebrow. "Official government business. He'll be back within the week."

"Within the week? Sorry, but he's had a pretty traumatic twenty-four hours, you'll have to clear it with his doctor and therapist." Remy began to close the door, hoping against hope that that was legal and would hold them off. Logan would know.

But the woman stuck her foot in the door. "Already done. Mr. Picani, if you will. There has been a breach of government policy, and he is quite at the core of it."

Remy froze. "Is this about what happened with Logan?"

The woman's eyes softened. "He can bring his phone, you'll be allowed to keep contact with him. But he really does have to come with us, there's nothing that can change that."

At some point, Emile had stood up and appeared behind Remy, still with a death grip on his blanket. "It's alright Rem, I'll go, don't worry." He kissed Remy on his cheek and began to step towards the woman.

"Wait!" Patton called. Emile stopped, and Patton scrambled up and into the kitchen. He emerged and pressed two chocolate chip cookies into Emile's hands. He hugged Emile tightly, and the rest of the men stood and surrounded them in a giant group hug.

Then, Emile followed the woman into a black car, and they all watched from the open door until the car was out of sight.

Two days later, Emile returned. "They had to question me, about what happened, and then they took blood samples and did tests on my Power. I guess I'm the only person ever who doesn't have a Power now."

Virgil called Logan that night. The first time, it just rang. The second, it went straight to voicemail. The third, Virgil could have sworn that he heard the click of the other end pick up. But Logan never said anything, and when Virgil lowered the phone away from his ear, the call had disconnected. The fourth time he called, an automated voice informed him that the number he was dialing was no longer valid.

Emile was entered into a Witness Protection Program, and after hugs and tearful goodbyes to his dorm mates, he left the college, his boyfriend following close behind.

"Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily, Picani," Remy said as they left, hands intertwined.

Things were not perfect, not by a long shot. That one night, that one decision that Logan made, changed all of them.

But they thought that maybe they could move on, eventually.

Thousands of miles away, a woman cupped her son's face and thanked him over and over, her voice rusty from disuse and thick with tears.

Logan told himself that he regretted nothing he had done.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Until the last moment - character sheets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666279) by [birdsongisland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsongisland/pseuds/birdsongisland)




End file.
